III
So he put on his boots, and came stumping down,
Clatter and clump, into Banbury town—
He did not fly into Banbury,
For plenty of time to walk had he!
He kicked at the gate—“Within there, ho!”
“Oh, what is your name?” says the porter Slow.
“Oh, the Giant Frodgedobbulum am I,
For a wife out of Banbury town I sigh!”
Up spake the porter, bold and free,
“Your room we prefer to your company.”
Up spake Frodgedobbulum, free and bold,
“I will build up your town with silver and
gold!”
Up spake Marjorie, soft and small,
“I will not be your wife at all!”
The giant knocked in the gate with his feet,
And there stood Marjorie in the street!
She was nine years old, she was lissome and fair,
And she wore emeralds in her hair.
She could dance like a leaf, she could sing like a thrush,
She was bold as the north wind, and sweet as a blush.
Her father tanned, her mother span,
“But Marjorie shall marry a gentleman,—
Silks and satins, I’ll lay you a crown!”—
So said the people in Banbury town.
Such was Marjorie—and who should come
To woo her but this Frodgedobbulum,
A vulgar giant, who wore no gloves,
And very pig-headed in his loves!